


What We Become (Depends on What Our Fathers Teach Us)

by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Featuring The Tornado Twins, Light Angst, M/M, Parenthood, Who I Did Not Name Don And Dawn For Obvious Reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/pseuds/asexual-fandom-queen
Summary: Family dinner at the West-Allen house, featuring Leonard Snart in the role of Not-A-Father.Written for Day Two of ColdWestAllen Week Spring 2017: Pride/Humility





	What We Become (Depends on What Our Fathers Teach Us)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is really late for ColdWestAllen Week, but we're running with it. This is my submission for Pride/Humility. I chose to go the pride route, specifically pride in family. (Also I seem to have _A Thing_ for naming the Tornado Twins Nora and Eddie)
> 
> Thanks to [Nixie_DeAngel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/pseuds/Nixie_DeAngel) for cheerleading me through this and reassuring me I had not lost my ability to make words happen. 
> 
> If you like this fic, please leave kudos and comments. I super appreciate every last one of them!

_"I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us.”_  
_Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum_

 

* * *

 

“Daddy, can you get that?” Iris calls over the noise of their food processor whirring.

A chubby first clomps Barry in the side of the face as Nora reacts to her mother’s voice drifting in from the kitchen. Perched in the bend of Barry’s other arm, Eddie giggles at the face Barry pulls, and the shrill, delighted sound makes Barry chuckle in kind. He crosses the living room, kicking toys from under his feet as he goes, then pauses when he gets to the front door, staring first at the handle, then at the infants he’s carrying, and sighs.

“Down you go,” Barry says gently as he leans over, sliding Eddie down his side until he’s standing on unsteady legs at Barry’s feet. Eddie clings to Barry and looks up with wide, puppy eyes that are all his father’s and Barry runs his hands through Eddie’s dark, wiry curls to soothe him.

“Hold on, slugger.”

Taking his hand back, Barry reaches for the door and pulls it open. Len greets him on the other side, smile quirked and lazy, his deep navy pea coat looking like sin against the warm tan of his skin. The cool evening air sends a shiver up Barry’s spine. The last traces of daylight give way to the pinks and purples of the setting sun over the rooftops of the houses across the street in their quiet suburb -- with kindly neighbours who never ask questions about the lightning that comes and goes at all hours, or the former supervillain that spends nights and is greeted at the door by both husband and wife with soft, affectionate kisses.

It still seems like a dream sometimes to Barry, that he gets to have this. Len’s lips are warm, and full, and feel like home when they meet across the threshold. He lets out a small, contented sigh as Len pulls away, and Len smirks the same crooked smirk that Barry fell in love with all those years ago.

Eddie crashes the moment by bouncing in place against Barry’s leg, shrieking and laughing with raucous excitement. He releases his death grip on Barry’s jeans and wobbles across the welcome mat, arms raised and angled upward at Len in a wordless demand.

Len chuckles and scoops Eddie up with his free arm, mirroring the way Barry holds Nora. He steps inside and shuts the door, closing the house off to the chill of early spring and toeing off his boots.

“Take this,” Len says, passing Barry the wine. Barry takes it, and Len shimmies out of his coat one sleeve at a time, jostling Eddie from arm to arm as he does.

“Mommy-- _Iris_ , is in the kitchen,” Barry says, correcting himself mid-sentence. Len raises an eyebrow and Barry huffs an embarrassed laugh. “The twins have been babbling a lot the past couple days. Joe thinks they’re gonna start talking soon.”

“And you’re angling to be their first words,” Len guesses.

“No reason we shouldn’t get one each.” Iris says this as she comes in from the kitchen with a tray of chicken thighs in one hand and a steaming bowl of carrots in the other. “Hi, Len,” she adds as she sets them down on the table.

Len smirks. “Hi, Mommy,” he replies. Iris scoffs and rolls her eyes, but not unkindly. She rounds the table and crosses the room to place a kiss to Barry’s cheek, take Nora in her arms, and whisper a gentle, “set the rest of the table?”

Barry’s finishes up just as Len and Iris pull away from a sweet, familiar kiss. He zips over and takes Eddie off Len’s hands, leading them to the table where a pair of high chairs are stationed among dining chairs.

“Lisa’s first word was _shoe_ ,” Len says as he takes the seat beside Nora’s chair. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up for a _ma-ma_ or _da-da_.”

Iris settles in beside Eddie and Barry takes the seat at the head of the table between his partners. Iris passes Len a bowl of finely chopped chicken, couscous, and carrots. He scoops up a helping on a small, malleable spoon and holds it up to Nora’s mouth. Iris does the same for Eddie as Barry plates up their meals.

“In this house, we’re optimists,” Iris reminds Len, and Len scoffs.

“Right,” he drawls. “How could I forget?”

Nora grumbles, malcontent, as Len ignores her in favour of her mother. She bangs on her tray table and kicks out her feet with surprising force. Joe swears up and down that Iris was the same way at that age, and promises they’re in for some truly terrible twos if the pattern holds.

Barry squirms in his seat as he does every time one of the twins fusses, lightning buzzing beneath his skin, a voice in the back of his head screaming at him to do everything he can as quickly as he can to cater to his children’s every need.

Len is made of stronger stuff. He turns to Nora and holds her big, wet eyes without sympathy. Len pierces a carrot with his fork and brings it to his mouth. Nora watches him as he chews methodically and, within a minute, she settles.  

“Mommy, would pass me the salt, please?” Len asks. Iris blinks in surprise but sets down Eddie’s dish to fulfill his request. Len utters his thanks as the shaker changes hands, salts his chicken, then pulls a piece of meat off the bone and brings it to his lips.

 _Modelling the desired behaviour_ , Barry realizes. His chest aches unexpectedly, hit with such a wave of fondness and love and dare he say _pride_. Pride that Len makes an effort with his and Iris’ kids, that he loves them, cares for them, wants them in his life as much as he wants Barry and Iris.

When Barry and Iris first learned she was pregnant, it seemed like a cruel twist of fate. They’d agreed to start trying for kids all of ten days before the mounting tension with Len finally boiled over in an epic confession of undying love, complete with heavy rain and a last minute dash to stop a flight -- albeit a flight through time, in this case.

As it turned out, ten days was all they needed.

It was crushing, to say the least, the happiest moment of Barry and Iris’ life undercut by the realization it might cost them the man they loved. Barry and Iris had agreed to hold off on trying again, to wait until things with Len were more settled, and they could discuss wants and needs and expectations. All it took to send that plan crashing to the wayside was a tiny plus sign on a plastic stick -- or three.

They shared the news with Len the following morning over a breakfast of toast and turkey bacon that felt heavy in their stomachs. It wasn’t a question for Barry or Iris -- they were keeping the baby. Len was under no obligation to step up and provide, not with his money or his time. If he could be patient with the new responsibilities of parenthood eating away at their time and their energy, they still wanted him in their lives. Of course they did. But they were also offering him an easy way out if he wanted it, before anyone got in too deep.

“You’ve got me in something of a labyrinth, dears,” Len replied in an instant with a shrug that feigned a nonchalance that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m a filthy cheat and even I can see, there is no way out.”

He had terms, of course, but they were perfectly reasonable, and more than either Barry or Iris expected. Len would chip in financially, buy diapers and cute onesies and a crib from IKEA he’d doubtlessly end up responsible for assembling. He’d run the kid to the doctor if they needed, back and forth to soccer practice, assuming they made it that far. But the emotional stuff, that wasn’t on him. No cuddling them to sleep, no joining the PTA, no heart to hearts over ice cream when their first middle school datemate “broke up” with them. That was a job for the real parents, and a parent Len was not.

Except, Barry’s spent the past eighteen months watching Len steamroll over every one of his terms, completely of his own volition. He went to ob-gyn appointments with Iris when Barry’s Flash duties kept him away. He sang old fifties blues to the swell of her stomach and waited in the visitor’s room with Joe and Wally, pale as Barry had ever seen him, when the doctors rushed Iris to the operating theatre for an emergency caesarian six weeks preterm.

Even now, in the comfortable, familiar way he interacts with Nora and Eddie, it’s plain to see Len thinks of them as his. They never discuss it, half because Len is never the most forthcoming with his emotions, and half because Barry and Iris are terrified addressing the issue might bring his walls up higher and stronger than they've ever been.

Barry understands. Iris does, too. She’s seen the marks on his skin, curled up, safe and warm, in their bed. Seen the way he flinches when dishes clatter in the sink. But she doesn’t understand like Barry does. She wasn’t there for Lewis, didn’t hear the vulnerability in Lisa’s voice, or see the body with its head blown clean off its shoulders. She didn’t watch Len shoot his abuser through the chest with a spear of ice then dissociate because that abuser was his own blood.

Len’s issues with fatherhood don’t take an expert to understand. But whether he claims the title or not, that’s what he is. They don’t live together, and they aren’t engaged -- though Barry and Iris have talked about it enough to know they both want to call Len their husband on day, legal or not -- but for once in Barry’s life, even with the lightning coursing through his veins, he’s in no hurry. This is his family. Things will come when they come, and so what if that takes time? As far as he’s concerned, he has everything he needs right in front of him.

So, Barry talks about his day at the lab. He complains about Julian and his garbage interpersonal skills, enthuses about the new upgrades Cisco made to the equipment in the Speed Lab -- “he’s calling it the Cosmic Treadmill, now, so there’s that.” Iris savours the one glass of Cabernet she’s allowed between feeding and pumping and hashes out ideas for her next article. Len offers up a million and one snarky comments, but also advice and unwavering support that both his partners need when they get frazzled and overwhelmed and take on the weight of the world.

The conversation is easy and familiar, so plainly domestic it makes Barry’s heart feel full, a bright, sunshiney smile stuck on his face. Len shifts in his seat to look fondly upon that smile, and Barry nearly melts. The bowl of chopped food in Len’s hands goes forgotten again, and Barry just manages to register that Nora would normally have thrown a fit by now before the sound of a small, high-pitched voice across the dinner table hits him like a lightning strike.

“ _Da-da!_ "

The room falls quiet but for Eddie’s gentle cooing, and three stunned sets of eyes land on Nora.  

" _Da-da_ ,” Nora says again. It’s deliberate and insistent, not the experimental babbling they’ve grown familiar with, but an honest to god word. Her _first_ _word_.

And she’s aiming it right at Len.

It’s impossible to misconstrue. Nora looks at Len dead on, reaches her arms out for him and makes small, grabbing motions with her hands. She wants Len to feed her and she’s asking this time, the way Len showed her. The way _her_ _dad_ showed her.

A gamut of conflicting emotions war in Barry’s chest. The positive ones come first, the unbearable joy and the staggering pride, to hear his daughter speak for the first time, to see her growing up and becoming her own little person.

And then there’s the uncertainty, the fear. Barry can tell from the tension thick in the air that Iris feels it, too. Len is eerily quiet, face raw and open in a way it is so infrequently, Barry doesn’t know how to read him, doesn’t know how to even _guess_ what he’s feeling.   

“ _Da-da_ ,” Nora whines, getting fussy and impatient. Eddie squirms in his chair and hides his face in his shoulder. He’s a sensitive kid, picks up on the emotionally fraught atmosphere where his sister does not.

“Len,” Iris says, soft, tentative.

Abruptly, Len stands, pushing out from the table with a loud scrape of wood against wood. He retreats to the archway between the dining area and the kitchen as Iris and Barry look on in concern, matching expressions of worry on their faces. Len leans his shoulder against the moulding, back turned to them, but stays in their eyeline. Barry and Iris share a look, then Barry stands just as quick, crossing the floor to Len’s side.

Barry hovers a few paces back. If Len wanted to be left alone, he would’ve left out the front door -- a defense mechanism Barry and Iris have had to deal with a time or two before -- but he still doesn’t want to crowd him.

“You okay?” Barry asks, his voice quiet and calm. Len nods and pivots on his heels, just enough that Barry can see the profile of his face, but still safely closed off from the other man. Still, Len doesn’t puff himself up and say _peachy_ in that glib, irreverent tone he uses when he doesn’t want to admit to feeling vulnerable, so Barry counts that as a win.

“Do you wanna talk about it, or do you need a minute?”

They’ve gotten good at this, managing Len’s PTSD. Barry and Iris know his triggers, and Len trusts them enough to be honest when he’s struggling. They have strategies now to handle situations that, for all of Len’s life, used to spiral and turn bloody.

“You can talk,” Len says after a minute, voice rough with the kind of hurt that makes Barry’s chest ache.

It’s not permission for a long, drawn out heart-to-heart, but that’s not atypical for Len. He’s comfortable enough expressing positive emotions -- his love for Barry and Iris and Nora and Eddie and Lisa and Mick -- but the negative things he still keeps walled up most days. They slip out sometimes, in the dark after a nightmare when his confessions are brought on by fear and panic, or curled up on the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon when the desire to be more open comes from feeling safe and accepted and loved. It’s the latter angle Barry tries now.

“I know why this is hard for you,” Barry says. “And Iris and I, we wanna make this as easy as we can.”

Behind them, Iris approaches, Nora perched in one arm, holding Eddie’s hand with the other as he toddles along beside them. Iris keeps a dozen or so paces back, far enough to give Len space, but close enough to offer reassurances that they aren’t going anywhere.

“I know the idea of being a father scares you,” Barry continues. “And as much as I understand why that makes sense, Len, it’s also _wrong_ , and I need -- we need -- you to know that.”

Len’s eyes flick up from the floor, first to meet Barry’s, then to meet Iris’. Iris nods, abrupt and curt, too overcome with emotion to offer much else.

“You are not same man your father was,” Barry says. “Not because you never could have been, but because you chose not to be. And that? That means something a hell of a lot more than if there was never darkness in you in the first place. Because you choose, every day, to be a better man. And maybe we don’t tell you enough how proud that makes us of you, but it does.”

“So proud, baby,” Iris affirms.

Len blinks harshly, the turns again, so more of his front is bared. He keeps his arms wrapped around his middle like a vice, like he’s using the pressure to keep his insides from falling out. Barry steps forward and rests a hand on one of Len’s forearms. Len sways forward, like he wants to lean into him but can’t allow that kind of vulnerability yet.

Barry smiles sadly. “Nora loves you,” he says softly. “And Eddie loves you. Iris and I, we love you, and we’re here for you, no matter what. If that means we discourage the kids from calling you Dad, that’s what we’ll do. But I don’t wanna do that.”

“Neither do I,” Iris adds. She steps forward, slow and measured so Eddie can keep pace, until she’s at flush Barry’s side. “We’re a family. I want the twins to know that. And I want any babies that come after this to know that, too.”

“You do?” Len croaks, and Barry’s heart shatters in response. He and Iris let out matching gasps of sympathy and pain. How could Len not know?

Then again, how could he? Barry and Iris spend so much time tiptoeing around Len’s past, they seem to forget all too often to clue him in to what they want from his future.

“Of course we do,” Barry says quickly, stepping closer still. Len lets him, shuddering as the extraordinary heat of Barry’s body settles against his skin. “Iris and I, when we agreed you didn’t have to be a father, we didn’t mean it because we didn’t want you to be. We wanted to respect your boundaries. I’m sorry if we should have pushed. All we’ve ever wanted is for you to know that you belong here. With all four of us.”

Len nods, jerky and clipped. He works his jaw, then turns his eyes on Iris and asks, low and raw, “can I hold her?”

Iris doesn’t hesitate. “Here,” she says. She lets go of Eddie’s hand and steps forward, passing Nora along.

Nora reaches instantly for Len instantly. “ _Da-da_ ,” she coos, grabbing Len’s shirt in a death grip with one tiny hand as the other comes to rest against the side of his face. Len turns his head and kisses her temple, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and Barry feels his own tears gather on his lashes. “That’s me, kiddo.”

Barry bends down to scoops Eddie up in his arms, and Iris nestles firmly into his side. They watch Len and Nora together for a moment, Len’s face an open book of wonder and adoration. Barry can count on one hand the number of times he’s felt this way, happy and proud and _so in love_ all at once.

“Move in with us,” Barry says, swept up in the intensity of his feelings, the heat of the moment, but it doesn’t matter, because Iris is backing him up within the space of a breath.

“Please,” she adds. “This house doesn’t feel like our home when you’re not in it.”

And Len? Len nods. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice shaky and thin but sounding so sure. .

Barry and Iris beam.

“Yeah?” Barry asks, his hope and unbridled enthusiasm contagious. Len nods again.

“And marry us,” Iris presses, as swept up as Barry in the moment. “So, it won’t be legal. So what? Let’s do it anyway. We can rent out a ballroom and throw a huge party and get you a ring. Because you’re as much a part of my life as Barry is, and I want that recognized, even if it’s just by our family and friends.”

“Me, too,” Barry says. His heart thunders in his chest as he watches the shine of unshed tears dance in Len’s eyes. He can’t tell for sure if they’re good tears or bad, but he can’t find it in himself to stop. “I want you to be my husband as much as I want Iris to be my wife. I want people to see the ring on your hand and know that you belong to someone. And I want you to know it, too. Every day for the rest of your life.”

Len blinks harshly, trying to clear his vision, only to send an errant tear streaming down his cheek. “I do, too,” he says, rough but so sincere.

Iris lets out a delighter peel of laughter and claps her hands a mile a minute. Barry isn’t much better, bouncing on the points of his his toes and jostling Eddie in his arms. Eddie shrieks a laugh and Nora follows, both sensing the excitement in the air, even if they aren’t able to understand they why. The whole thing pulls a soft, reverent chuckle from Len, and it makes Barry melt.

“And more babies,” Barry adds. “Let’s have more babies.”

Iris whips her head to face him and Len’s blinks go from struggling for composure to owlish. Barry flushes and ducks his head, rubbing his free hand self-consciously over the back of his neck and up into his hair -- a habit Nora’s started to mimic.   

“S-sorry,” Barry stammers, tripping over his words as he rushes to say them. He glances up through his lashes at Len and winces. “I’m probably moving way too fast. Just -- I got excited. I can just see this whole future with you and I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Len cuts off Barry’s rambling with a shake of his head. His eyes have gone back to looking round and soft and wet, and it shakes something loose in Barry’s chest, some remaining vestige of calm that settles over him like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s day.

“Not freaked out,” Len says. The tones of his voice are saturated with wetness, thick and breathy. He rubs Nora’s back absently with the flat of his palm where she’s curled into his chest, arms clinging tight around his neck. “The babies, the wedding, the sickening domestic bliss. I’m game if you two are.”

Barry can barely kiss Len for the smile that splits his face in two. Still, he gives it his most valiant effort, tugging Len in by his waist and slotting their mouths together. Len laughs against Barry lips, light and breezy, and it’s only a matter of moments before a tug on Barry’s sleeve from Iris pulls him back so she can kiss Len instead.

“I love you, so much,” Iris says as the pair separate.

“And I love you,” Len replies in kind.

Iris leans into Len’s open side, then brings her hand up to let Nora grasp her fingers as she reaches out for her mother. Barry steps in close and turns the affectionate cuddle into a family hug, stealing another kiss from Len for good measure.

“This really okay?” Len checks, the earlier vulnerability back, though not in full force. “The whole _Dad_ thing?”

He’s asking Barry, mostly, but it’s Iris who responds first. “Well, I’m a little cheesed you got words before I did,” she says, a sarcastic, teasing drawl Barry swears she picked up, at least in part, from Len. “But I’m not too worried about it. There’s still one kid left to speak and Eddie is Mama’s little man.”

Iris turns her bright, gorgeous smile on Eddie and hums encouragingly. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Eddie’s laugh is like windchimes, high pitched and a little bit magic. Barry revels in it for a moment before Iris’ words sink in and he frowns.

“Nuh-uh,” Barry counters, shaking his head. “Eddie is a total…”

He trails off, glancing at Len over the top of Eddie’s curls. Len is still -- stiff -- for a beat, watching Barry with sharp, calculating eyes that don’t quite mask his anxiety the way they used to when he and Barry first met.

“...Papa’s boy,” Barry finishes. Len’s shoulders relax, and the two men share a knowing smile, Len’s filled with gratitude and humility where Barry’s is all support and love.

“Can you say _pa-pa_ , Eddie?” Barry asks, turning back to his son with a smile he hopes is half as dazzling as Iris’ but he knows for a fact is not. “ _Pa-pa_.”

Iris scoffs. “Please, Barry,” she says. “I have such a head start on you.”

And back to Eddie. “Say _ma-ma_ , Eddie.”

“No, _pa-pa_ ,” Barry say. “Say _pa-pa_?”

“Might I suggest --”

“No!” Barry and Iris turn on Len in unison, and Len raises an single, elegant eyebrow, either in question or in judgement, Barry can’t be sure.

“You already got one,” Iris explains. “The next one is mine.”

“Or mine,” Barry reminds her, half a whine.

Iris smirks. “Keep telling yourself that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://asexual-fandom-queen.tumblr.com/).


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